Savior
by Eldritch Librarian
Summary: A sequel to "One Last Time" by Minor God, written after obtaining the writer's permission. After the apocalypse, Aziraphale goes down to Hell to find Crowley. T because of some blood and language.


**_Disclaimer: This fanfic is kind of a sequel to "One Last Time" by Minor God. Read it first to understand what's up. The contents of the letter are theirs, I didn't write them. All I wrote is this story, after obtaining permission from the writer, of course._**

 ** _All characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett._**

Aziraphale stood in front of the towering gates of Hell, clutching Crowley's letter in his fist. It took the angel a few years to understand the meaning behind the text, but when he finally did, he used every single of his numerous resources to find a gateway to Hell and a way for an angel to get there.

A polite cough from behind made him jump and swear so loudly that, for a moment, the angel was worried that one of his superiors would hear him. He turned around to meet 10 feet of meat, fat, muscles and incredibly bad smell. The demon looked at him like most people looked at the morning newspaper: With vague interest, but only because they had nothing better to do.

"Hello there." The demon greeted him in a monotonous voice. "Let me guess, you're here to save your loved one, right? They all do." He spat out to the side, and Aziraphale wondered if the hulk knew that he's an angel. He hoped not.

"Y-yes, as a m-matter of fact, I am." He stuttered out, and the demon's face lost any remaining traces of interest.

"Fine, you can go in." he yawned, scratching his enormous bottom. "But you won't succeed, anyway, just so you know. Enjoy your short time in Hell."

 **xXx**

When the gates closed behind him, Aziraphale sighed in relief, almost thanking God that the demon was too used to similar travellers to realise that he was talking to a celestial being, but stopped himself in time; he didn't want _anyone_ to find out about his mission, otherwise both Heaven and Hell would be out after him and Crowley.

The angel took out the letter again, looking for any instructions, even though he had it memorised.

 _"_ _Wander down the frozen stairway, taking the stairs only one at a time, follow the sound of my heartbeat, then, at the room on the left, you're at the end of the line."_

The angel looked down at the spiralling stairway in front of him, every step coated with a thin layer of ice. He couldn't hear, however, anything even remotely resembling heartbeat, but he decided not to worry about that for now. After all, demons' and angels' hearts didn't beat unless they wanted them to.

The angel began his journey downwards, taking one step at a time, partly because of Crowley's letter, and partly because it was simply too slippery to do otherwise. During his descent, he was thinking about his demon partner. At first, they were pretty close to being formal enemies because of the whole "Good vs. Evil" business but, as centuries passed, they became acquaintances, then companions, then friends, then something more. After the apocalypse, they had to part ways, each into their respectable realm: Heaven or Hell.

Aziraphale smiled, an image of the serpent appearing in his mind: Handsome face, raven black hair, a confident smirk, sunglasses hiding his beautiful, golden eyes. Suits, Bentley, jokes, quoting movies, grooming his wings when he couldn't be bothered, feeding ducks…

"Oh Crowley." The angel sighed, not noticing when exactly he has reached the bottom of the stairs. In front of him, there were five corridors. He chose the one directly to his left. As he walked, his step quickened to a full sprint. He reached the door at the end and almost pulled it out of its hinges.

There he was.

Crowley.

He was propped up against a bloodstained wall, beside a shattered bed. His glasses were lying broken a few meters away from him. His black suit was, too, well and truly ruined; Torn and stained with blood and mud. The demon's hair was dishevelled and sticking to his face, which was…

Aziraphale ran up to him, lifting the demon's head to examine the injuries further, and froze, his eyes wide in sheer terror. Crowley's face was covered with a multitude of cuts and bruises. He had a black eye, while the other one was covered with dried blood. His lips were slightly parted, but he did not breathe.

"Oh, dear." The angel tried to wipe the blood from the demon's face. "Oh, my dear, dear Crowley. What have they done to you?"

Then, he heard voices. Demons. Laughing. Talking about "giving the filthy traitor another lesson". The angel looked around frantically, looking for a hiding spot. He found none.

"What do you think we should do to him today, Hast?" one of the voices asked, and Aziraphale frowned. Hast? Then it dawned on him. _Hastur._

"Maybe sprinkle holy water on him, eh?" another voice suggested, and the angel shuddered, knowing what effects holy water had on demons.

"Why, you have any?"

"No, but we can always get some."

"You should've said this earlier, you idiot." A third voice growled, and Zira could guess that it was Hastur. "But okay, we'll save that for the next time. For now, let's just rub some salt into the wounds we gave him yesterday and then kick him around a bit."

There was a murmur of agreement and six demons entered the room, led by a particularly tall one, wearing a leather jacket and smoking a cigar.

For a split second, everything stopped.

Then one of the other demons blurted out:

"Angel!"

Aziraphale swallowed, cold fingers of terror squeezing his throat. He said nothing.

"Hey, relax, boys." Hastur grinned at the kneeling angel. "He's alone. We'll finish him and then move on to our friend Crowley. Azazel had a good idea with the holy water, actually."

Just as the demon finished speaking, something inside Zira snapped, and he grit his teeth, getting up.

"What have you done to Crowley?" he drawled, clenching his fists, but the demons just laughed at him.

"Why, the loser tried to _stop_ the glorious apocalypse," one of the demons said. "so we had a little _conversation_ with him. Then another one, and another, and we'll have another one once we're done with yo…"

"You won't." the angel's eyes began to glow white, like two drops of burning magnesium, and he opened his wings, sheltering his fallen companion. "Not on my watch."

Another outburst of mocking laughter.

"Really now, you overgrown chicken?" Hastur chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "And what makes you think that you could beat all six of us?" he gestured at his cronies, who all grinned very ugly, unpleasant grins, oblivious of their upcoming doom.

Aziraphale's eyes were glowing brighter with every second, and his wings began to glow too, as if fuelled by his fury. The demons were slowly growing uncomfortable.

"Hast, what the H-… What's happening?" a short demon with leathery wings asked, turning to his leader. "What should we do?"

"Quiet, you idiot!" the taller demon growled. "Listen, angel. Get out of our way and let us play with our toy, and we may even let you keep your wings."

The glow brightened, and they could hardly see Zira's figure. Two demons hissed, feeling the holy light burn them.

 ** _"_** ** _I WON'T LET YOU HURT HIM EVER AGAIN!"_** the anger roared, reaching out towards his enemies, incinerating them in mere seconds. Then, he turned towards Crowley, picked him up gently, dimming the light enough to keep the demon unharmed. He set out towards the exit, his light preventing anything or anyone from chasing him.

 **xXx**

The bookstore was just as he remembered it.

It wasn't really Aziraphale's bookshop, but a small pocket plane of sorts he made for himself to sit in during his spare time when Gabriel or Metatron didn't want anything from him. It was hidden and available only for him and him only.

He laid Crowley on the sofa at the back of the shop and proceeded to clean off all the blood from his face and hair. After he was done, he checked his pulse before remembering that Crowley didn't have any. He hoped that the demon was alright. He knew that a demon would be alright if he died on Earth…

…But he wasn't sure about a demon dying in Hell.

"Crowley?" he patted the demon's cheek in an attempt to wake him up. "Crowley, dear, are you alright?" He knew that the demon was obviously _not_ alright, but producing the light has drained him so much that he simply wasn't able to miracle the serpent's wounds away. At least for now.

Zira went to sleep. He didn't need to, of course, but it always helped him to regenerate his powers faster.

 **xXx**

When the angel woke up, Crowley was as limp as he was before he dozed off beside him, squeezing his hand. Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale concentrated, channelling all his power on healing his friend's wounds and fixing his clothes. After a few minutes, any remaining traces of harm on the demon's body have vanished, and the angel wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Alright, Crowley. You can wake up now." He breathed out, poking the demon's limp body. "You're safe, dear. Safe and sound."

No response. Zira had an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

"Crowley, dear. Wake up. Your suit is intact, so you can stop worrying about that."

Still nothing.

"I'll pour coffee on your suit if you don't wake up?"

Nothing. The angel was growing anxious.

"Crowley, please wake up. It's not funny, dear. Get up!" he slapped the demon's cheek, which _really_ should've woken him up. Aziraphale felt his throat tighten. "Stop fooling around and get up, you idiot!" He yelled, feeling something wet go down his cheeks. No…

It made no sense!

It wasn't possible!

It made no sense whatsoever!...

…If it was, then why was he curled up on that couch, cradling Crowley's body in his arms? Why was he crying his heart out? Why was he yelling at him to come back to him? Why was he crying out his name into the empty room?

Most importantly, why wasn't the bastard waking up?

 _Because he's gone, you idiot!_ Zira's brain was screaming the news at him, but he refused to accept it, running through everything he knew about demons in search of an alternative explanation.

He found none, of course.

"No." he sobbed out, hugging the demon's body, as if hoping that the physical contact would bring him back. "Crowley, please. Please don't go."

"Go where?" a weak voice asked.

"Where I can't…" the angel froze.

 _Wait, what?_

He looked down to see Crowley looking at him with half-lidded eyes and a weak smile.

"I'm not going anywhere, you idiot." He whispered. "I don't know what made you think…"

He couldn't finish, because he was crushed in a hug so hard that he was genuinely fearing for his bones, but returned the gesture, anyway.

"Oh, Zira." He muttered into the angel's shoulder.

"Crowley," his angel sobbed out in relief. "Oh, my dear. I was so worried that… That you…" he couldn't finish, overwhelmed by the demon's presence after all those years of separation. Crowley rubbed his back comfortingly, half-heartedly trying to ignore his own tears.

"You found me." He said, tightening the embrace. "It took you damn long, angel, but you found me."

Aziraphale pushed him away for a minute to get a better look at him. The same eyes, the same nose, the same smile…

"H…How?" he uttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I thought that you…"

The demon shrugged.

" think that I was for a minute." He admitted. "But I might've just blacked out. You would, too, if Hastur and co. has decided to use you as a punching bag. Then, I appeared in a tiny, cosy room with two armchairs, and you'll never guess who was sitting on the first one."

"Satan?"

"The exact opposite."

"God?" The angel gaped at him in astonishment. The demon nodded, stretching.

"He told me that He's been watching us for a while now, but especially me, and decided that I've redeemed myself with the whole trying-to-stop-the-apocalypse business."

Zira blinked. "Redeemed?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

Instead of responding, Crowley spread out his new wings, white as fresh snow.

"Take a guess." He grinned. "He also said something about the two of us making a cute couple, but I was too busy making a face similar to yours to comprehend it. Anyway, then I woke up to you crying and begging me not to go."

Aziraphale closed his mouth, then opened it again, his brain trying to digest all the new information. "So… You're an…"

"…Angel, yes." Crowley nodded. "Although I'm going to miss all the bars and dance clubs back in Hell, I trust that you're going to make up for it, right?"

The other angel blinked, regaining his cool. "Ekhm, of course." He assured him. "There are lots of nice cafes in Heaven, actually, and I know a great one that even resembles 'The Ritz'."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at that. "As long as they have alcohol, I don't mind." He decided. "I'm going to celebrate the he-… the heck out of that." He grinned again.

"We." Zira corrected him before pulling Crowley into a long kiss. "If you think that I'm going to let you wander off by yourself now, think again."

Both angels smiled at each other.

"I missed you, Zira." Crowley whispered, running his fingers through Aziraphale's golden curls. The other angel pulled him into a tight hug.

"I missed you too."

 _The End._


End file.
